To Ashes, To Earth
by DarkenedFantasy
Summary: The first battle has erupted and subsided, but Kirkwall is not yet the war-torn shell of a town which the Seeker comes to visit. For the moment, there is unrest, an uneasy attempt at a truce, a reconciliation. Those far beneath the Champion's notice attempt to live day to day in a city now defined by fear of both the mages and the templars- and may yet see the true Magi wars begin.
1. Chapter One

_Chapter One_

She had been running for quite a while now. Her pursuers had followed her through the streets of Kirkwall, through Hightown's market squares and into the alleys of Lowtown. The smell of stale piss and ale permeated the streets as the young woman fled past the Hanged Man, light green robes "borrowed" from a fallen former Circle mage fluttering behind her in the self-created breeze.

"Hold it right there, apostate!" one of the armor-clad hunters called out, causing her to look back and see the sunlight glinting off of his sword and Templar armor.

_Apostate... there's that damned term again..._ the mage mused to herself, brushing a few fallen strands of curly raven hair out of her deep violet eyes.

Her flying feet soon led her down the flights of stairs which led into the Elven Alienage of Kirkwall- and there, she realized, she was cornered. The City Elves would not dare raise a hand to aid a human, much less a mage, especially now. With nowhere to run, all she could do was fight. The pale-skinned human turned around to find herself face to face with a ten-man battalion of Templars- a Lieutenant with five regular ensigns and four archers.

_Oh lovely, they have ranged fighters... This day just keeps getting better and better._ the mage thought, smirking wryly as she pulled out her Spirit-based staff.

Before the Lieutenant had a chance to react, the mage felt power pooling around her hands, and channelled it into a crushing prison for the leader of the troops, leaving him immobilized and helpless as his armor was forced inward, breaking ribs and cutting into his lungs with the phantasmal bars. He swiftly fell, but shortly after that, the mage felt no less than three arrows piercing her thigh, stomach, and shoulder. Unwilling to let that stand, she threw her focus into calling upon the Maker's mighty Fist to crush the archers to the ground- which left her exposed to the other Templar ensigns as they cut and slashed into her. A quick burst of telekinetic energy left all of them disoriented for long enough of a moment that she could heal herself, but it would only buy her a moment's reprieve.

_I can't keep this up much longer!_ she thought, only barely managing to erect a Barrier before herself, deflecting a few Templar blades while she was at it. _And I'll be damned if I let these bastards take me and make me Tranquil!_

There was a swift _woosh_ing sound, and not only did the Templar standing in front of the mage fall, having been pierced through the jugular, but the Archers standing in the distance but in line behind him died as well, which left only one Archer and four other Templars standing. As the girl witnessed this, a grin grew on her face. She had a feeling she knew who it was that was assisting her. The thought of the assistance brightened her mood, and she felt the warm happiness turning into a consuming fire which shot forth from her fingertips, roasting two of the Templars before her. The last remaining Archer was barely standing regardless- one simple shot of Spirit power from her staff, and he dropped like a ton of bricks.

The mage sensed a presence behind her, and turned around to find a Templar about to stab her in the back had himself been backstabbed, a simple dagger being pulled from his armored, severed spine, the assassin flinging aside the blood like so much trash. There were only a few flecks of blood in his silver hair, which almost glowed in the outside light. His mouth was quirked in a smile, light blue eyes alight with humor as he sheathed his dagger in his belt, and teased, "And here I thought you _shemlens_ were the quick children... Can't even outrun a few Templars? You're getting out of practice."

A childish-looking pout and challenging glare crossed onto the mage's young-looking face, and she placed her staff in its usual holding place on her back, proceeding to fold her arms across her chest. "And who was the one who killed most of them? Oh yes, that's right, _me_. I just needed them distracted for a minute- you distracted them. Problem solved."

The man continued smirking, the stubble-covered jawline set in a sense of mock-superiority. "Yes, I'm sure being _dead_ is enough of a distraction to keep the Templars from pursuing you. You can thank me for completely saving your arse later, five sovereigns should do the trick-"

At that, the raven-haired mage grabbed the silver-haired archer by the point of one of his tapered ears, and dragged him down so that they were on eye level.

"Ow ow ow ow!" the man whined, giving her a pitiful look. "By the Dread Wolf, you've got a strong grip... Oh come on, you know I was just kidding, Andraste!"

"Quiet, you!" the mage hissed, glaring at the taller man, pulling even harder on the earpoint she held in her fingertips. "You know better than to call me that in a public place like this. Please... I only just managed to get those Templars off my back, Torrac."

"Okay, okay, _fine_." Torrac conceded, grimacing in pain. "Now _Andi_, will you _please_ let go of my ear?"

Rolling her eyes, Andraste released Torrac's ear. The ranger could be an idiot sometimes, but he had his heart in the right place. Even if he did annoy the hell out of her at the best of times.

As the man tried to recover full circulation in the tip of his ear, he could hear the whispers of his kind surrounding them- jeering voices relating the _shemlen_ and the _seth'lin_, voices mocking him for his diluted blood, voices mocking her for being a mage. They couldn't stay out in the open for much longer, that much was certain.

"Let's go in to my house, Andi." Torrac invited, taking the mage's hand and leading her inside. "We don't need to be lingering out here..."

Finally aware of all the eyes on her, Andraste began feeling more than slightly self-conscious, and nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Let's go. Besides, I think your mother will be very happy to see us both safely in one piece."

**CODEX UPDATE: MAGES IN KIRKWALL**

_"Since the beginning of the Mage-Templar war, during which the Champion, Marian Hawke chose to side with Orsino and the Circle of Magi, Mages living within Kirkwall's boundaries have been chased almost constantly by Templars. There are reports that Knight-Commander Cullen and Knight-Captain Ashtoret are working to at least lighten the burden of worry upon the backs of apostate mages, but many Templars are resistant to this change, and thus will hunt known apostates with everything in their being before the law is rewritten to limit their powers."_

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__**Author's Note: **As there is no room for warnings in the summary, I shall put warnings at the bottom of this page. I rate this fanfiction M not because I intend on going overboard in details with the sex scenes, but because there are many truly disturbing things referred to later on. I will place a warning before the beginning of the appropriate chapters if there is something that could be objectionable. This fanfiction will also feature a main cast that is composed almost entirely of Original Characters. If that is not your cup of tea, I suggest you leave now. If you have constructive criticism about the characters, then feel free to leave it. Do not, however, simply drop off the accusation of Sue/Stu without offering advice as to how to fix it, as a character being that way is often a failure of the writing, not of the character itself. This place is also reserved for translations of any Dalish phrases I feel require translation, as I feel that interrupting the narrative with an author's note to translate completely ruins the flow of the writing, and the literal meanings of some Dalish phrases may not make sense without clarification down here. With all that said, I hope you enjoy. Be honest but fair in your feedback, should you choose to leave it.


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

"_Mamae_! I've come back!" Torrac's baritone voice heralded into the small, rundown shack of a house where he and his mother lived. If his voice alone hadn't been enough to alert all residents of the place to his presence, the door swinging shut with a loud crash behind him most certainly was.

Andraste's steps were hesitant in the cramped living space. She was no stranger to cramped, dirty, poverty-stricken living quarters, considering she herself hailed from Darktown, but it still felt odd intruding into someone else's home like this- even if that someone was a good friend.

"Torrac?" a softspoken voice queried from the kitchen, a slight white-haired elven woman emerging, wiping her hands on her apron. There was a moment of confusion, and then, utter joy crossed her face. "_Da'assan, da'len,_ you've come home again at last!"

The woman ran for her son, and wrapped her slender arms around his muscular torso. The elf-blooded man returned the kind favor to his mother, embracing her with arms strengthened by years of fighting in the Alienage and conducting various bounty-hunting jobs outside Kirkwall.

"_Abelas, Mamae._" Torrac apologized softly, his voice soothing. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

Not wanting to interrupt the tender moment, but still desiring to make her presence known, Andraste softly and awkwardly cleared her throat, drawing the Dalish woman's attention. "It's good to see you again, Hanna." she greeted quietly, smiling at her friend's mother.

"_Aneth era_, Andraste." Hanna replied, smiling as she returned the greeting. "It is good to see you here safely again. How is your mother?"

Andraste sighed, shaking her head. If there was anything at all in the world that annoyed her more than Torrac, it was her mother's promiscuous attitude. "Pregnant. Again. This time, with triplets."

Hanna let out a Dalish exclamation of shock, a hand going to her mouth. Then, collecting herself, she said, "My apologies, that was rude of me. But yet again, she is with child? And bearing so many? I don't see how Eliana does it and does not show her years."

The mage shrugged. "Personally, I don't see how she does it either. She's a human and yet she ages like one of elven blood."

While the two women were exchanging pleasantries, Torrac found his eyes drawn to his mother's face. Her eyes, brown flecked with forest green, showed a deep sadness, and bore the shadows of recent tears. He gently placed a hand to his mother's shoulder, and turned her back to face him.

"_Na inan... Ma numin..."_ he murmured, his intense blue gaze locked on hers. "_Dirth'ar, Mamae, tu ma souveri?_"

The mage arched an eyebrow in confusion. She'd spent enough time around Torrac to pick up phrases of Elvish here and there, so she could tell he was addressing Hanna, but as to what he said, she had absolutely no clue. The smaller Dalish woman replied something rapidly in the elvhen tongue, seeming somewhat defensive. Torrac did not seem to appreciate that, as his tone on the next query was far more sharp. And then, amidst the shakily-voiced reply by Hanna, Andraste finally heard one word which she recognized.

"..._Mohana_..." the word was almost a broken whisper from the woman's lips- and that soft, sorrowful tone brought many ghosts into the eyes of Andraste's companion.

Yes, the young woman knew this word, because it was not a word of the Dales, but rather, a name. A name which she and Torrac were far, far too familiar with. Torrac's eyes were wide and filled with tears as he replied in a quiet voice, "_Mohana'din, Mamae..._"

And on that word, he walked out of the house, letting the door shut behind him.

"Torrac..." Andraste murmured, calling out weakly after him. When she received no reply, she nodded respectfully to Hanna, then exited the house to find Torrac slumped against the outer wall, face buried in his hands. She knelt down next to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, meeting his startled gaze with a soothing one of her own. "It's all right to mourn... I miss her too..."

"She was not _your_ sister, _lethallan_." he replied, wiping his tears from his eyes. He stood from his crouched position. "Now is not the time to be pondering something which is already finished... _Falon'din_ guide her soul..."

He rolled back his shoulders, and re-assumed his normal prideful, almost arrogant bearing. "Come on. Let's see what kind of trouble those _ir'hamin shemlens_ need help solving."

Andraste sighed, shaking her head. "You know this isn't going to do anything to help you come to terms with grief, Torrac. It's been almost six years now..."

"Thus why we should no longer be concerned over it." the elven-blooded man growled, cutting her off. "_Halam sahlin, da'vhenan'din._ Come on... the rogue Templars are gone, and we've got work to do."

The apostate shook her head, glaring after her one true friend in this city of chains. This discussion wasn't over- not by a long shot. But she would have to wait until later to properly confront him about it. Pink lips curling in frustration, she stalked after the archer as they walked for the Lowtown Bazaar, where jobs would soon be found to earn money for the both of them.

**CODEX UPDATE: THE EXILED ONES**

_"Many of the elves who now live in the Alienages were born as City Elves, within the boundaries of one town or another. Yet there are some elves now living in the Alienage due to exile from the tribes of the Dales. To date, there are but two offenses known to merit such exile and disgrace- one is to bring harm to the Keeper, the other to sire an elf-blooded child with a man not of the People. Few are the Exiled Ones who get to return to their place among the People. Once that disgrace is cast, little can be done to redeem the elves who have received it."_

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**Author's Note:** Below are the given translations for the various Dalish phrases found in this chapter, and explanations for some of the more loosely-translated ones.

_Mamae_- Mother

_Da'assan_ and_ Da'len_- literally "little arrow" and "little child", terms of endearment from mother to son

_Abelas_- literally 'sorrow', colloquially and contextually used here as an apology

_Aneth era_- "my safe place", an informal phrase of welcome

_"Na inan... tu ma souveri?_"- The literal translation of this makes little sense, as it translates literally into "Your eyes, you (have) tears... Tell me, Mother, to make you weary?". Using the context, however, the meaning becomes clearer. "Your eyes... You've been crying. Tell me, Mother, what's upsetting you?" or "What's wrong?"

"_Mohana'din, Mamae."- _"Mohana (the person in reference) is dead, Mother."

_Lethallan_- clansmate or kinsman, used informally among Dalish elves to refer to friends or family. Implies a degree of kinship between Torrac and Andraste, that he refers to her with a term normally used only by Dales referring to their own.

"_ir'hamin shemlens"_- literally, "more rest quick children" or "more rest humans". "Hamin" in this case is being used in an implicitly adjectival form- restful. Thus, "more restful humans". Taking it in context with the rest of Torrac's comment, he means it as "lazy humans".

"_Halam sahlin, da'vhenan'din._"- "Halam sahlin" is a phrase normally used in the context of a threat, as it means something "ends now". In this context, however, it is used more in the sense that something _"_has ended now" or "is already ended". In the past. Done with. _"Da'vhenan"_ means 'little heart', another term of endearment, which makes sense, as he refers to his sister, and she is "din", she is "not" or "no more". Thus, the phrase translates into "It's over now. Little Heart is dead."


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

The heady scent of meat and spices filled the air of the Lowtown Bazaar. It was shortly after high noon, so the wares of those selling food would have to sell quickly in order to prevent them from spoiling. Various Antivan and Orlesian merchants hawked their "finest silks and jewels", potion makers offering their poultices- for a price. The area was very, very busy at times like this, so Torrac and Andraste knew that it would be a perfect place to search for some work and earn some coin.

Whilst navigating through the typical sea of shady merchants and petty thieves looking for a hired sword, they saw in the middle of the market a nobleman begging for assistance from the crowd.

"Definitely an Orlesian..." Torrac muttered to Andraste, looking at the man's ornate crushed velvet shirt and fine black breeches. "Looks like he could offer us a hefty sum... Maybe we should see what he wants."

"Definitely." Andraste replied, nodding in agreement.

Having just dismissed the last group of mercenaries trying to earn his coin, the pale-skinned Orlesian threw his hands up in disgust. "Bah! Thieves and beggars and dishonorable blades, all of them. All after my coin, not a care of the task I want done..."

"What seems to be the problem, messare?" Andraste asked, approaching the nobleman.

The Orlesian turned, startled, and a leer broke out on his face. "Forgive me for not introducing myself to such a lovely young flower. I am Comte Vincent d'Autriche, at your service."

Andraste's violet eyes narrowed at the nobleman. He wasn't really much of a prize- mousy brown hair slicked back away from his face, hazel eyes, plain features. His money would likely be the only attracting factor to his suitors. "Charmed." she muttered, grumbling. "Now, then, is there some way we can help you?"

"Certainly." Comte d'Autriche replied, crossing my arms. "Is my daughter, Genevive... She has been missing for quite some time. I have tried approaching the city guard, but they are not doing anything at all. And all these peasants, they do not care for her fate, so long as they get the gold I am offering. The Champion is far too busy with important matters to help, so I am getting desperate."

"When was the last time you saw your daughter?" Torrac asked, looking at the nobleman.

"It was about a month and a half ago. My Genevive, she is so young and uneducated in the ways of this world... I fear something terrible has happened to her." the Comte answered, his head turning down with the last sentence.

"Do you know where she was last seen?" Andraste asked.

"Yes, but I do not believe it!" the Comte replied, suddenly angry. "My Genevive is a sweet, innocent little girl. She would have nothing to do with that- that den of iniquity in Hightown!"

Calming down, the Comte continued, his voice a broken whimper, "Please... I just want to see my daughter home safe... I will offer you a handsome reward if you can find what has become of her."

Andraste exchanged a look with Torrac, the two nodding in unison, turning back to face Comte d'Autriche with sympathy in their eyes.

"We'll be glad to help." the raven-haired mage soothed.

"You will? Oh, thank you! Thank you! Maker bless the both of you!" the Comte rejoiced. "I will be waiting for further news at my house in Hightown. Come and find me when you have news of my Genevive."

With that, the Orlesian nobleman turned and walked off towards the streets of the Hightown Bazaar. Once he was out of earshot, Torrac turned to Andraste with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, wonderful! Looks like we'll be dropping by my favorite establishment in all of Kirkwall." he intoned cheerfully.

"Just don't get to mixing business with pleasure." Andraste grumbled. "And if they try selling me on working there again, I'm leaving."

"Oh, come on. I can't take just a little bit of pleasure with our work?" the half-elf whined jokingly. "You seriously need to loosen up a bit, Andi. Maybe if we find the right man there for the right price... And, well, _I'm_ always free..."

That was when the back end of the mage's staff met sharply with Torrac's ribs, knocking the breath out of him.

"Oof!" he grunted, massaging his abdomen. "Hey! Come on, you know I was just kidding!"

"I'll believe that when it's not coming from one of the biggest philanderers in all of Kirkwall." she muttered snidely.

"Oh come now. That makes me sound like a serial heartbreaker or something." Torrac replied, mock-wounded, a hand to his chest.

"Let's just get this over with..." Andraste groaned, leading the way into the cleaner streets of Hightown.

**CODEX UPDATE: THE BLOOMING ROSE**

_"In existence practically since Kirkwall was freed-and quite possibly even beforehand- the Blooming Rose has widely become known as one of the most popular destinations for seedy travellers, aside from the Hanged Man in Lowtown. The Rose sees all kinds of customers, from lowly rogues to noblemen who cannot satisfy their pecadillos with their wives. The working girls and boys there are always friendly to any customer who has the proper coin to offer."_


	4. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

The scent of sex was heavy in the air as soon as Torrac and Andraste entered the nook of Hightown where the Blooming Rose was hidden. Andraste's face crinkled up in disgust, while Torrac's mouth spread into a wide grin.

"Ahh, the Blooming Rose. Prime destination for people with lust on their minds and coin to spare." he stated jovially, walking with a bit of a spring in his step now.

The black-haired mage rolled her eyes. "Don't get too distracted. We're here for information, not to pleasure ourselves."

With that comment, they stepped inside of the establishment, drawing the eyes of many of the men and women working there. Torrac saw the madam, and was about to approach her for the information he sought when he heard a familiar drawl calling out to him.

"Well, hello again, big boy." one of the men working at the Rose hailed, causing Torrac to turn around.

The white-haired rogue recognized the voice as soon as he heard it. He hardly needed to see the elven ears, red hair, and intensely blue eyes to realize who it was that had called out to him. "Jethann. Good to see you again, old friend."

The red-haired elf smirked at the archer, a suggestive look entering his eyes. "So, what are you here for today, hmm? Business, or pleasure?"

"Officially, business." Torrac answered smoothly. "But that could be moved to make room for some pleasure, if we have coin to spare later- _ow!_"

A sharp pain in the half-elf's left foot let him know that he needed to get to the real purpose of their visit, and _fast_. Sighing, he amended, "Well, perhaps some other time, Jethann. Right now, we're on a very important mission."

"My, someone's focused today." Jethann teased. "Well, what can I do you for?"

"Have you had the pleasure of servicing a young lady by the name of Genevive?" Torrac queried.

"Hmmm... Genevive... Genevive..." Jethann murmured, thinking aloud. "Ahh, yes, that pretty red-haired Orlesian girl, I remember her now."

"When was the last time she was here?" Andraste asked, taking over the questioning.

"It was about a week ago. Haven't seen her since." the elf replied smoothly, flashing a charming smile at Andraste. "Haven't exactly seen you around here, either. If you have some spare coin, maybe the three of us could arrange something..."

"Tempting-" Torrac began, only to get cut off by Andraste's voice.

"No thanks."

"Aww, too bad. Well, last I heard of Genevive, she was headed off toward Darktown. You know, to that old clinic that used to help Ferelden refugees, before, well, you know." Jethann replied, his voice becoming oddly somber.

Oh, yes. Both of them knew what had happened. Andraste and Torrac remembered how the debris from the Chantry had fallen over the city, demolished houses in Lowtown and Darktown alike. How the man responsible had been put to death by his own companion. How they had been forced to defend themselves and each other as Templars, given the order of the Right of Annulment, dragged possible apostates from their houses, slaughtered former Circle mages. And how so many abominations began roaming the streets, born of the desperation of the mages who lived in Kirkwall. That night would live long in both of their memories. But it seemed some remnants of the mad mage's presence remained- his old clinic still stood.

"Now why would she go there?" Torrac wondered aloud. "With Anders no longer among the living, what purpose would there be in going to an abandoned clinic?"

Jethann shrugged. "Beats me. Though I have heard rumors of some new apostate maybe trying to take over the clinic and help those in need. Just rumors, though. They probably aren't true."

"Well, looks like we'll be heading over to my side of town." Andraste sighed. "I remember where that clinic is. Come on, Torrac, let's get out of here before you get distracted."

Torrac looked back at Jethann almost apologetically before following his dark-haired companion out of the whorehouse. Pleasure could wait until later- they had work to do.

**CODEX UPDATE: Aftermath of the Explosion**

_"Following the destruction of the Chantry by the mage Anders, a great time of rebuilding has begun in Kirkwall, particularly in the lower sectors. It is because of this need to rebuild that the current boiling tensions between Mage and Templar are not fully accentuated as of yet. However, the day will soon come when another explosion will rock the foundations of Kirkwall- the true beginning of the war at hand."_


	5. Chapter Five

_Chapter Five_

Dingy, disgusting, and, well, DARK were the first things that came to mind when one entered Darktown. Even those used to the stench could be taken aback by the sheer squalor of the place. Even Andraste, who had lived there ever since her father had been forced to enter the circle, was disgusted by the place- particularly the side of Darktown she and Torrac were currently tromping through, where Anders' clinic had once been located.

Though the mage was minding her surroundings, she was still surprised to feel cold steel being pressed lightly against her throat as arms surrounded her from behind. Soon afterward, she could smell the familiar stench of a man who'd gone for far too long without bathing. It wasn't pleasant in the least.

"I wouldn't advise trying to move, girly..." a gruff voice whispered in her ear. "Wouldn't want to have to cut up that pretty face of yours."

"Andraste!" Torrac shouted, running for the hostage apostate.

"One step closer, and this dagger slits her throat!" the bandit restraining Andraste taunted, pressing the blade even closer to her throat for emphasis. "Now, both you and the girl, hand over your coin purses!"

Torrac began to draw out his bow, and was rewarded for his efforts with the blade being pressed deeper into Andraste's flesh, beginning to draw out a rivulet of blood. The archer's shoulders sagged at the sight. _Even if it wouldn't risk Andraste getting killed by that lowlife, the way he's holding her makes it impossible for me to get a clear shot on him... Bastard knows what he's doing..._

The bandit laughed in Andraste's ear. "Looks like your boyfriend ain't got what it takes to save you..."

Andraste sighed. "First of all, he's not my boyfriend. That's mistake number one. But your biggest mistake? That's thinking I _need_ his sorry ass to save mine."

With that, her foot slammed down on the instep of her captor's, causing him to release her. She walked only a few paces forward, turned around, and made the rogue freeze in his tracks- literally. _Ahhh, Cone of Cold is SUCH a useful spell..._

She walked up to her companion, patting him on the shoulder. "He's all yours now, Torrac."

Finally able to get a clear shot, Torrac readied an arrow that would pierce even the ice-encased bandit straight through the heart, and fired, relishing in the sound of cracking ice as the arrow lodged in it's target, the slowed from cold bandit's heart.

"Well, now _that_ bit of unpleasantness is done with, shall I pick his pockets? Or should we just keep moving?" the silver-haired man asked, blue eyes alight with their normal humor once more.

"Let's just keep going." Andraste replied. "If he was trying to rob _us_, of all people, he doesn't have anything worth stealing."

"Agreed." Torrac replied, following after Andraste as she led them closer to the old clinic. Given he lived in the Alienage, and she lived in Darktown, coin was sort of a rare luxury, only given for jobs well done- assuming people didn't try to cheapskate their way out of it.

The pair was able to reach Anders' Clinic without further incident. The lantern outside had been dark for many months, so it came as no surprise that this was still the case. The two stepped inside the darkened area, half-expecting something to come out and attack them at any moment. Standing near the center of the area was a stunningly beautiful redhead, one wearing an ornate Orlesian dress. What _did_ come as a surprise to both mage and archer was the Desire demon which stood before the young woman.

The sickeningly familiar sight of the demon galvanized Torrac into action. He couldn't stand by and watch someone get possessed. Not again. "Genevive!"

The pretty redhead turned to face the intruders with a haughty glare, her regal features marred by the mask of pride. "And just who are you to address my by name and not by title?"

"We were sent here by your father!" Andraste added, drawing her staff as she eyed the demon. "Don't listen to a damned word this demon says! Run back home!"

"Hmph. My father would not send such- riff-raff to escort me back home. And besides, I do not _wish_ to return home. My father, he wishes to send me packing to the Templars' mercy. Ever since he discovered I have magic, he has wanted me gone to spare him the shame." Genevive ranted, looking drawn-up and self-righteous. "So, I grant his wish. I leave home. But I will not be made to go to what little remains of the Circle!"

"I understand where you're coming from." Andraste replied. "I'm an apostate myself. To be under Templar control is the last thing I want. But this is not the way to go about doing it! If you go home, we will speak to your father about this. But you have to get out of here!"

"No... _NO!_ I will not! Let you take my freedom! Away from meeeeEEEEEEEE!"

The 'sweet, innocent' Genevive's final words turned into a shriek of agony as her body distorted and malformed itself into an abomination, overcome by its own magic and fear. Torrac's face settled into a grim line as twin Shades appeared beside the former girl, readying his bow for the upcoming fight.

Andraste trapped the abomination within a crushing phantasmal prison before turning her attention to the two Shades, who were swarming towards Torrac. The archer in question rained a hail of arrows upon the two Shades, but was swiftly overcome. Andraste brought forth once more the Maker's mighty fist to crush the Shades around him to the ground before readying a healing spell to mend Torrac's wounds.

So focused was she on her companion that she forgot to mind the first and most important enemy, the abomination, which overwhelmed her, slicing its claws deep into her skin. She was just barely able to muster the strength of will to stun her enemy for the moment, at which point she saw Torrac fell the other two Shades with one shot, leaving the arrows he'd pierced them with to fade into nothingness with them. Seeing the immediate danger his comrade was in, Torrac readied another shot, and fired. This one ripped through the abomination with great force, but did not end it. So the task fell upon Andraste to put the poor, frightened child that had become a monster out of her misery. A task she accomplished by consuming the wretched thing in flame.

All that was left behind of the former Orlesian noblewoman was her necklace, which Torrac proceeded to pocket. "We should take this back to her father and explain what happened."

Andraste nodded stiffly, looking at the place where Genevive had faded. "This is what fear of the Templars and what they do _does_ to us mages... And it's _this_ that makes them all think we deserve death, or worse..."

"A fact that _this_ one should know all too well, now shouldn't he?" a sultry voice called, manifesting itself in the form of a Desire demon which appeared before Torrac.

"You-!" Torrac shouted. "But we killed your host-!"

"_My_ host? Don't make me laugh." the Desire demon taunted. "That girl was too weak. Too... easy. I prefer my hosts try fighting it. Makes it more fun when I finally succeed in breaking their wills and overtaking them. At least, until I get bored with them and leave."

"Leave this place, demon!" Andraste shouted, holding out her staff threateningly. "You have no right to be here!"

"Aww, how cute." the Desire demon sneered. "Playing at hero again, are we?"

"Again-?" Torrac's unease at the situation was heightened by his confusion. "You speak as if you know us..."

The demon pouted, reaching a hand out to caress Torrac's cheek. "And I am surprised you speak as though you do not know me at all. Surely you can remember this touch..."

And he could. To his horror, he could. He remembered that touch. He remembered it with flashes of another desperate young mage. Remembered it with flashes of the one he'd failed to save. Remembered it with flashes of a night he'd sooner efface from his memory than have to face again. The night when he'd lost everything...

His vision was beginning to blur, and it wasn't just from the tears he was holding back. Something in him had been triggered, and it made his sight begin distorting. He could feel the arms of the Desire demon wrapping around him, just as they had before, her lips poised at his neck as she whispered, "Oh, yes, yes, I believe you do remember me now... I can see it in your eyes. Even if you can hardly see into mine. Would you care for me to... recreate that night so long ago?"

"N-no..."

The man's voice came out as little more than a weak moan. The fight was draining from him. He knew he needed to resist, but what was the point? This vile creature would manipulate him as she had before...

"Enough of a whore that you're willing to prey on someone without magical ability, I take it. Somehow, I fail to be surprised." a low voice stated, his cold tone laced with sarcasm.

Andraste turned to face the new intruder, and found a man who seemed to be all white skin and bones step out of the shadows, black hair falling in his face. He took a dagger held in his left hand, and slashed it across his right, using his own blood to fuel the magic which now took hold of the wretched demon, forcing her to release her captive before causing her to explode and fade into nothingness.

"A blood mage-!" Andraste stated, her tone between shocked and questioning.

"Yes, yes, you can lead the damned Templars on a witch hunt later. Right now, I do believe I'm owed some gratitude for having just saved you and your comrade's woefully unprepared skins from that wretch." the pale man replied, letting his wound seal itself up, wiping any excess blood off on his black robes.

After having been dropped to the ground, Torrac found his vision slowly beginning to clear up. By the time he was able to stand, it was completely clear, and he found himself staring into a pair of piercing silver eyes on a man who seemed... hauntingly attractive.

"Wh-who?" he asked, unable to come up with a more coherent question.

"My name is Aiden Greene, not that it matters, given that here is where we part ways." the man coldly replied, starting to walk out.

"Wait!" Torrac called after him. "You saved our lives. How can we ever repay you?"

Aiden turned back to face the other two, replying, "Well, you could start with introductions. Especially from that lovely fellow apostate over there."

Andraste's brow furrowed in frustration. She was really quite sick of being hit on. "Call me Andi. I'd give you my real name, but it doesn't tend to go over well around these parts."

Torrac, having regained his composure, flashed a charming smile towards the other man, and said, "The name's Torrac. Son of the Dales."

"As if your voice didn't already give that away." Aiden replied, deadpan. "And focus your charm on some whore, boy, I'm not interested." He turned to Andraste, his tone becoming far more pleasant. "As for you, Andi, you seem like a woman with your priorities straight."

"And you seem like a man with yours straight as well." Andraste replied. "So what say you to a little proposition?"

"And what might that proposition be?" Aiden asked, now curious.

"Travel along with us and aid us on quests to earn coin, and you'll receive a third of the profits from here on out, until such time as you feel whatever debt we owe you for saving our lives is repaid." Andraste answered with a confident smile.

The man seemed to be heavily considering it. "A life for a life is how it would work in magic, such shall it be here. I'll accompany the two of you until each of you have repaid me your life debt. Which should be mercifully short, given the Templars are likely to begin their hunt as soon as they discover what I am. Regardless, I have no objections to receiving a third of the profits- it will aid me in my research."

"It's a deal, then." Torrac replied, smiling brightly. His tone and expression quickly sobered as he continued, "Now, off to Hightown. We need to let that poor Orlesian nobleman know what happened to his daughter..."

**CODEX UPDATE: Maleficarum**

_"In light of the recent battle in Kirkwall, the Chantry has been forced to re-evaluate what precisely qualifies a mage as a maleficarum- whether a single use of blood magic in a desperate situation is enough to condemn a mage to the death sentence, even if they show regret for their actions later on, or if it takes consistent, proven use of the dark art of blood magic to qualify a mage as a maleficarum. A final decision has yet to be handed down on the matter."_


	6. Chapter Six

_Chapter Six_

Though Torrac had a hood he could have very well drawn over his head to conceal his elven blood as they entered Hightown, pride would not allow it. So what if the _shems_ stared disapprovingly at him wandering around? Let them.

Besides, it seemed that today, it was not he who was drawing the most stares, but his and Andraste's companion. Unsurprising, given the man looked worn almost to the bone. Aiden's appearance would, at best, gain general sympathy from the populace. But, more likely, it would frighten them away enough to avoid saying something ill of him.

_Andraste said this Aiden was a blood mage..._ Torrac thought to himself, studying the man as they walked. _He certainly looks the part. I hope we never have to go near the Gallows with him about, or something tells me he'll get branded as a maleficarum on sight..._

It seemed Aiden had noticed the intense blue eyes boring into the back of his skull. Without turning to face the archer, he asked, "Do you have some particular reason for nigh burning a hole in what's left of my face with your gaze, boy?"

Torrac gulped at the man's tone. He didn't seem to be too angry, but that was what was unnerving about it. He seemed almost too calm. _Remind me not to get him really mad..._

"You're a very unique man, Aiden." Andraste replied, answering Aiden's question. "And Torrac's an idiot. Don't mind him."

"I gathered that he was an arrogant buffoon within five seconds of speaking to him." Aiden answered smoothly. "And I don't intend to mind people who matter little to me."

The half-elf looked back and forth between his two companions, looking slightly hurt. "I'm right here, you know."

Andraste turned back to face him with a smile. "Oh, don't be so sensitive about it. You know I'm just teasing you."

"I'm not." Aiden cut in.

A twitch at the edge of Torrac's jaw. "You know what, Aiden? You can just sod off!"

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Andraste interjected, throwing her arms open in a 'hold it right there' gesture. Were it not so dangerous to publicly use magic, she would've thrown up a barrier between the two arguing men. "Both of you, just calm down! This is accomplishing nothing. Let's just pretend we like each other for a little while so we can tell this poor girl's father what happened to her. All right?"

Aiden and Torrac spent a few moments more locked in a glaring contest before stiffly nodding as one. The rest of the journey into Hightown was spent in silence.

Of course, Comte Vincent d'Autriche lived in one of the most ornate buildings in the nobles' quarters, so finding him was hardly a challenge. Torrac knocked on the door to the palatial mansion, and was greeted by the Comte himself.

"Yes?" he asked, looking disapprovingly at the trio standing outside his door. Then, recognition hit, and he opened the door to allow them inside. "Oh! Forgive me, I had forgotten that it was you who I hired. Please, tell me, what news do you have of my precious little Genevive?"

Torrac looked back and forth between Andraste and Aiden before deciding to be the bearer of bad news himself. He pulled the young woman's silver locket from his pocket with a grim sigh. "This is all that remains of her, I'm afraid..."

The Comte's face twisted with pain as he took the locket into his hands. "No... No... How? How did this happen?! Who did this to her?!"

Torrac exchanged a nervous glance with Andraste. What delicate way was there to put it that she had done it to herself? It was Aiden who chose to speak up. "You knew your daughter was an apostate, didn't you?"

"Wh-wha-? How did you-?" the count asked, seemingly shocked that anyone knew of it. "Pl-please, I beg you, keep your voice down. I would not want this information to get out..."

"You've just been told your own daughter died, and you're more concerned with the neighbors finding out she had been a mage?" Andraste asked, growing angry. "Where the hell are your priorities?!"

The comte seemed to recoil at Andraste's words, looking somewhat shamefaced. "Forgive me. Being of such low birth, you cannot understand the mark of shame it is on a family of my status for our only child to have fallen prey to magic."

"It shouldn't matter what your damned status is." Torrac shot back. "She was your daughter! She wanted anything _but_ to be sent to the Circle, which is why she ran off! If you had accepted her for who she is, she'd still be alive!"

Comte Vincent drew himself up in a regal manner, and slammed the back of his hand against Torrac's cheek. "_Tu fichu esclave! _You will learn your place, _elf_! I will not have you speak to me in such a manner!"

Torrac stood there for a moment with his hand against his cheek. His blue eyes were blazing with fury as he growled, "You asked us to tell you what had become of your daughter. We told you. Sad to say, you have no one but yourself to blame for the circumstances of her death. Now, are you going to pay us the coin we were promised for actually bringing this news to you, or are you just going to shout profanities at us?"

"Certainly _non_!" the comte shot back, annoyed. "I cannot know if you have told me the truth! I know your kind. I never should have trusted one of the knife-ears to do the job of a City Guard. No doubt you killed her yourself, then made up this whole story about her... About her... being an abomination or other such nonsense to rob me of my coin! No! You shall receive _nothing!_"

And with that, the door slammed in the trio's faces, with not a single coin left behind for all their trouble.

"You know, I think you might have angered him with your tactlessness." Aiden stated, rather unnecessarily. "It really wasn't your place to speak on how he should have treated his child."

"And it's _your_ place to tell me how to speak to a filthy _shemlen_?" Torrac retorted, shooting a glare at Aiden.

"Well, excuse me, a _shemlen_, for pointing out your obvious lack of common sense." the blood mage replied, crossing his pale arms over his chest. "I don't have to stay here and put up with this nonsense. Technically, it was _you_ who decided to tag along after _me_ in the hopes of repaying a life debt."

"If you want to leave so much, then why don't you just _go_?" the half-elf asked, his voice raising.

"You seem all too eager for me to leave. Therefore, I stay." Aiden answered, smirking. "So much as I love a good battle of wits, I do _so_ hate fighting an unarmed opponent. It really isn't very sporting of me. But then again, I never was very 'sporting'."

With that, the raven-haired man began walking back through the streets of Hightown, Andraste following after him. Torrac remained in place for a moment as he thought through what Aiden had said. When the meaning of it caught up to him at last, he ran after them with a cry of, "HEY!"

It was the first time they'd heard Aiden laugh. It was a highly disturbing sound.

**CODEX UPDATE: Magic and Nobility**

_"For so long has magic been told as the harbinger of the greatest sin in the world that even the slightest hint of magic in one's bloodline is seen as a curse, a blight upon that family's name. Thus was it determined for the nobility to find other nobility that lacked magic in their blood, to avoid the disgrace and shame having a mage for a son or daughter would inevitably cause. The efforts taken to conceal such mages often lead to disastrous results."_


	7. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven_

The Hanged Man was a place one visited more for the atmosphere than for the drink or food. The place was a wretched hive, the perfect place for people to find work who didn't mind subverting the law. But the Hanged Man saw all sorts of customers, from commoners to Templars to City Guards. And it was a City Guard that stood at the calling board, shaking his head, when Torrac, Andraste, and Aiden walked in.

Still seething over having not been paid for his last several jobs (for the Orlesian nobleman was the latest in a series of no less than three that had refused to pay Torrac for his efforts), the half-elf caught sight of the City Guardsman, and raised an eyebrow. "Now what would one of the City Guard be doing here?"

"Maker only knows." Andraste said with a shrug. "Still, wouldn't hurt to talk to him. He is by the calling board, after all. That must mean he has a job of some sort that needs doing."

"Hopefully something with _paid income_." Aiden sneered. "I wasn't too pleased with receiving a third of _nothing_ last time."

The half-elf decided to ignore the male mage's complaints in favor of approaching the Guardsman who was standing by the calling board. When the Guardsman turned around, Torrac recognized the face as one that had hired- and _paid_- him previously for a job that needed doing. "Guardsman Donnic? Is that you?"

Donnic turned to face the archer with a sigh. "Torrac. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you in here job-hunting."

"Considering our last three jobs all fell through, we need to be." Andraste cut in.

"So, what sort of work are you coming in here for?" Torrac wondered. "Usually you don't pass along jobs from the City Guard unless they need to be hidden for political reasons... or are extremely dangerous."

"This one's a little bit of both, I'm afraid." Donnic sighed, massaging his temples. "And it's not that the City Guard is _incapable_ of handling this- just unwilling. So many of them- myself included- have wives and families that they don't want to risk being left behind. So we're pooling our resources and offering a large amount of sovereigns to anyone willing to do our work for us on this one."

"How large of an amount of sovereigns are we talking about here?" Torrac asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Twenty for proof that the mission's been completed successfully, plus five more for proof of any others that have been slain." the guardsman replied.

"There has to be a catch to this." Aiden remarked, a raven eyebrow raised. "There has to be a catch, otherwise you wouldn't be offering such rich pay."

"The catch would be the danger of the mission. The men are spooked by it." Donnic replied. "There have been reports of werewolves up on Sundermount. It's possible they could get into the city and attack the civilians if not killed now. But, of course, because the werewolves are on Sundermount, several of the guards are passing it off as the problem of the Dalish Elves, not ours. The problem with that is, if the werewolves slaughter the elves- as legend would have them capable of doing- or curse that entire tribe, then we have an army of werewolves at our doorstep, and nowhere near the man power to fight it."

"So you're looking for people who're willing to do a little animal-hunting and skinning and don't have as much to lose as the City Guard." Torrac surmised with a hint of disgust. He thought it over for a brief moment before continuing, "Well... I need the coin. And I somehow doubt anyone _else_ in here's going to volunteer. So my comrades and I will do it for you."

"Maker bless and watch over the three of you." Donnic replied gratefully. "You're going to need it."

Torrac nodded in reply, and began leading Andraste and Aiden out of the Hanged Man. As they walked for the exit of Kirkwall into the area of Sundermount, the male mage began to speak again. "You do realize that this is a fool's errand, right? You fail, and at best, you'll die. At worst, you'll become one of them."

"Don't be so negative." Andraste retorted, her staff drawn and ready now that they were safely beyond the boundaries of the city. "We'll be fine if we're careful about this."

The trio slipped silently past the Dalish Village, walking further towards the peak of Sundermount. It seemed only a few moments before they saw them. Werewolves. _Six_ of them. All of them with the tattoos of the Dales across their snouts. The largest one snarled something unintelligible at one of the smaller ones, causing the smaller one to shrink back.

"Looks like we've found our mark." Aiden hissed under his breath. "So, what now, oh _brilliant_ self-appointed leader?"

"We stay back here." Torrac whispered back, keeping his voice so low that it was difficult to hear him. "Best not to engage them directly if we don't absolutely have to. We're better off attacking from afar with our spells and arrows."

"Alert the Chantry, you actually show some _reason_ for a change." the blood mage murmured sarcastically.

"Quiet!" Andraste shushed the both of them, violet eyes growing wide as she saw one of the wolves look in their direction. After a long moment, the werewolf slowly turned back to its brethren.

"Let's try to make these kills as quickly as possible, so they don't have time to react." Aiden instructed quietly. "These werewolves aren't as strong as the ones rumors say the Warden faced in Ferelden, so they should die much more easily. Torrac, you shoot first. Andraste, be ready with me to freeze the remainder of the pack when they come charging for us once the first one is felled- or missed, whichever should come to pass. So, Torrac, don't screw this up."

Torrac nodded, taking a deep breath as he aimed his bow for one of the larger wolves. Under his breath, he began whispering a litany he'd learned long ago. "Vir Assan: the Way of the Arrow... Be swift and silent; Strike true, do not waver, and let not your prey suffer. That is the way of Andruil..."

"Nervous?" Aiden asked, raising an eyebrow.

Torrac did not respond, as he had already tuned out the mage's voice in favor of focusing his aim for the largest werewolf's heart. If his arrow struck true, it should kill the beast in one shot. But if he missed his target, they were in trouble. He inhaled deeply, and released the arrow on a slow exhale.

Time seemed to slow for the next several seconds as the arrow flew- and hit its target dead on. The heart of the werewolf was pierced, and it collapsed. The balmy air around Torrac chilled to a bitter, freezing cold as the mages around him went to work on the rest of the wolves charging for them. Thus were all of the remaining werewolves frozen. Aiden sliced his wrist, and cast a spell with his blood which caused the wolves to bleed within the ice encasing them, making them fall dead once the ice finally dissipated.

"That was... almost disappointingly easy." Torrac commented, putting away his bow. "Then again, they haven't had the time to build up great numbers here... And they aren't regimented like the ones supposedly in Ferelden. All the same, I suppose we should get to work on skinning the things."

And so they did, for each of the five smaller wolves in succession. Aiden's magic had boiled away the blood in the smaller ones' veins, making the whole affair far less messy than it could have been. At last, they came to the leader of the pack, the one Torrac had brought down in a single shot. Its chest was bleeding, its breath seemingly stilled.

"Looks like it's just the leader left." Torrac noted, bringing his knife to the beast's throat to begin his work.

Andraste and Aiden had seen the eyes slide open as Torrac knelt down. Aiden wisely kept silent, but Andraste couldn't help but shout a warning to her friend. "Torrac, look out!"

Torrac looked back, distracted by his friend's cry, which startled the beast into wakefulness. He heard the snarling behind him, but was unable to react in time to stop it from sinking its teeth deep into his right hand. He wrestled with the werewolf for a moment before finally finding himself able to draw the dagger he would've used to skin the beast across its throat. It was only then that the werewolf's jaws released his hand. He sheathed the dagger, and clutched his left hand to the wound on his right.

The moments before had passed too swiftly for Andraste to register what happened, so she was, needless to say, alarmed upon seeing her friend clutching his hand. "Torrac-? You're hurt! Are you all right?"

The half-elf had been about to answer with the automatic 'I'm fine', but a sudden rush of what burned like acid through his veins cut him off before he was proclaimed a liar. As he cried out in pain, Aiden's eyes zeroed in on the archer's hand.

"Your hand. Let me see it." Aiden ordered coolly.

In response to the mage's fingers reaching for his hands, Torrac instinctively drew them back towards his body protectively.

The blood mage sighed, shaking his head. He drew out a long dagger, and began approaching Torrac as if he intended to use it to kill. Andraste's eyes widened viewing the scene, and she cried out, "No, Aiden! Stop!"

Silvery eyes narrowed. "He's been bitten. If I don't do this now, he'll become one of them."

Violet eyes narrowed in response. "There has to be some sort of cure! There has to be!"

A sigh from the other mage. "There is, but it's in the hands of the Dales, who aren't too keen on helping humans. Even humans with elven blood."

"We have to try!" Andraste shot back, walking over to Torrac and placing one of his arms over her shoulder. He seemed mostly able to support himself, albeit a little bit woozy. "Torrac. It's going to be okay. We're going to get help."

"...blood feels... like it's on _fire_..." Torrac moaned, sounding incredibly weak.

His weakness only continued to grow as the group of three moved farther down the mountain. Aiden lingered behind them, as he was now the one forced to bear the weight of all the pelts. Though the air was warm, it was not hot enough to merit the sweat now running unchecked down the archer's face. Andraste could feel the heat practically radiating from him- clearly, he was running a fever. Torrac's already pale complexion was paling even more, and was taking a sallow green undertone, as if he may be nauseous. At long last, they reached the camp of the Dales, and were halted by two hunters.

"Halt, _shemlens_. Your kind are not welcome here." one guard stated. "It is best you go from whence you came."

"Please!" Andraste begged. "Can't you see that my friend needs healing?! He's just been attacked by one of the werewolves outside the village! We're told the Dales have a cure, and he needs your help! He's from Dalish blood himself, can't you see that?"

"Bring Keeper Marethari here." Aiden cut in, looking down at the two guards. "Tell her Aiden Greene has returned and requires her aid."

"Who are you, _shem_, that you _dare_ speak the Keeper's name?" the second guard asked confrontationally.

"Peace, Gamare." a wisened voice called as an elderly Dalish woman stepped forward to greet the visitors. "Aiden Greene. It seems the gods have decreed it is fate for us to cross paths once more. What is it that you require?"

"_Aneth era,_ Keeper Marethari." Aiden greeted, bowing respectfully.

Were Torrac more aware, he would've made a comment on the mage knowing the language of his people, but right now, his primary concern was not getting ill to his stomach in front of the Keeper.

After a moment, Aiden spoke again. "We have slain the werewolves which troubled you in the mountains. Unfortunately my travelling companion was bitten by one of the fiends. It is said that the Dales have the secret to a cure, which my companion rather desperately needs."

"The man you seek is the Keeper of another clan, Zathrian." Marethari replied with a sigh. "I do not have such power. I am willing to help you, provided we keep the one who has been cursed locked in a cage until either a cure is prepared or one must carry out what needs to be done. I owe you a debt of gratitude, so I will send for Zathrian. But I cannot promise that he will be so willing."

Aiden nodded. "I understand. Lead the way to where my companion will be held."

**CODEX UPDATE: The Nature of the Beast**

_"It has been quite some years since werewolves were known to trouble human or elvenkind. It was presumed that the last of the dread beasts lie dead after the Hero of Ferelden chose to lay waste to Witherfang, originator of the wolves of the Brecilian Forest. With the heart of that great wolf, Keeper Zathrian was able to formulate a cure for his own ailing hunters. A cure which he still holds in his- and only his- hands."_


	8. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

Losing his personhood was never something which Torrac believed he would have to face. Though many, both humans and elves, looked down upon him for his half-blooded status as an inferior being, he had never doubted he could at least be treated as a _person_, so long as his soul remained. Now, well, he stood at risk to lose even that.

He knew it with each beat of his heart, which forced blood that burned like fire through his veins. With the throbbing of the scarred tooth marks on his right hand. He knew it from the desperation in his friend Andraste's violet eyes as she watched him, separated by the bars put in place by the Dales for her protection. Protection- from what he may soon become.

_If we're lucky, this cage will be an unnecessary precaution..._ Torrac thought to himself, looking towards the entrance of the tent. _The Keeper says she's sent for Zathrian, who has the cure. If we're lucky, he'll have the cure ready, and we'll be out of here soon enough. _

His eyes fell upon the scar on his hand once more, another throb of pain accompanied by the memory of the leader of the werewolf pack's fangs clamping down upon his hand. _But if we aren't lucky... Then I'll become just like those beasts we slew further up on Sundermount, won't I...?_

Pacing occupied the long hours between meals on the first day, as Andraste seemed to be in too much shock to make much of a conversational partner. Absolutely sick of the silence, a wry smirk crawled onto Torrac's face, and he said, "Well, on the bright side, you can't very well get on to me about not shaving after this."

A laugh. Albeit a nervous one, but at least a laugh. "Even now, you can't take anything seriously, can you?"

Torrac chuckled. "That's me, ever the jester."

His humor swiftly died after that, fizzling after the one pathetic attempt to brighten a bleak forecast. The shaving comment was more than a mere joke- he knew his hair was getting thicker, and already he could feel it growing in places where it hadn't previously. He could feel it beneath his clothes, within his shoes... not that he'd let Andraste know of that. She was worried enough as it was.

When the final meal of the day came at last, the half-elf found his appetite had grown voracious. He tore into the fresh meat offered him, ignoring the vegetable matter on the plate in favor of the generous portion of rare venison. The knife and fork were forgotten, the large slab instead torn apart by his bare hands, ripped apart by his strangely sharper canines, shreds of meat caught on his... claws...

The sight of the almost talon-like nails now adorning each of his fingers was enough to stop his feast. He heard a scoffing noise in the background, and turned to find Aiden sitting there, his pale face twisted in disgust.

"Was this a recent development, or did you always have the manners of a beast when you ate?" Aiden sneered, hardly inclining his head from his book.

Torrac glared at the blood mage, about to fire back an equally snarky retort when he felt the rumbling of his own voice deep- far too deep- in his throat. Often had he seemed to growl in frustration at the attitude of his companion, but now that growl was all too literal. He took a moment to compose himself, and replied, "Well, you can't honestly expect me to have table manners at a time like this."

The sound of his own voice was slightly lower than it had been before, making it seem strange to his own ears. He sounded as if he'd been suffering a bad cold. The thought brought to mind a warm memory of home.

_Each of his coughs was wracking his throat with pain. He should've known better than to stay out in the snow for so long, especially when the fire in their own house had such a nasty habit of going out on them on nights like this. But still, spurred on by his companions, he stayed out and played, made merry in the rare snowfall which brought their little village joy. _

_"M-Mamae..." his voice was almost gone by this point._

_"Shhhshhh. Hamin, da'len, hamin." Hannah soothed, gently stroking a few stray hairs out of the lad's face. "Emma in'an."_

_"I told you not to stay out there so long, lethallin!" a childish female voice taunted from the door. A young silver-haired lass who was practically Torrac's mirror image stepped inside the room, sticking out her tongue at the bedridden boy. "But you didn't listen!"_

It was there that his own emotions began breaking the memory. No. He couldn't bear to think of it, of home, of _her_ at a time like this. Especially because, very soon, it was likely he would never be able to return to his home again, and the one remnant of that joyous time- his loving mother- would be left alone.

"This can't be happening to me..." he moaned, cradling his aching head between still-bloodied hands, trying to stem the coming onslaught of tears. "It just can't..."

Aiden just stared at the archer, struck speechless. A sinking feeling was beginning to make itself known in his gut; the depressing sensation that he had witnessed what he was likely soon to see happening before. _No. I dare not think of it at a time like this. I just hope that for his sake, Andraste's sake, and mine, that my theory is incorrect..._

When Torrac awoke the next morning, he was aware of a dull ache deep in his bones. An ache which concentrated itself in his fingers. He watched in fascination and more than a bit of horror as the bones began lengthening slowly before his eyes. The changes to his hands were occurring in increments, but noticeable ones. _Well, so much for archery after this transformation..._ he thought to himself, though his very brain felt chilled by the sight.

His eyes took to scanning his body, to assess the damage thus far. Judging from the uncomfortable itching all over his body, the growth of hair had thickened. It was starting to sprout in odd places on his face now, as well. He saw that his claws had grown longer while he slept, dreamlessly.

_Strange... you would think, given the circumstances, I'd be having nightmares._ he considered. There was meaning to that, he knew there was, but for the moment he just couldn't think of the significance.

He could smell Andraste's familiar scent, and surmised she was watching him as he paced the perimeter of his tiny caged-in area, trying desperately to think of what was so important about him not having nightmares, or any dreams. He knew it was there, at the back of his mind, practically taunting him, but he just couldn't think of what it was. Before he knew it, he was aware of an even deeper rumbling which seemed to come from deep in his chest, resonating in his throat. Another growl of frustration.

"Torrac... what's bothering you?" Andraste asked, stepping over to the cage. "You can talk to me. It's not like we have much of anything else to do at the moment, aside from pace and wait."

"Andi, I'm in no mood!" he almost literally barked at the spirit healer. His expression became horrified as he saw her take a step back from his cage. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose my temper. I just... There's something strange... I haven't dreamt since I was bitten. I know that's important. I know... But I can't think... why..."

Though Andraste kept her face composed, Torrac knew she must have heard the sound of his voice. It had dropped considerably from even the previous day, its timbre far more gravelly than it had once been. Sooner than he would like, his voice would fully assume the growling bass the speaking werewolves in the children's tales of old always possessed. And once that happened, it wouldn't be long before-

He shook his head, stopping his own thoughts before they progressed, albeit slowly, to their logical conclusion. He didn't even want to think that the time would soon come when he'd lose the power of speech. He forced himself to think of what he had been mulling over before- his lack of dreams. As he thought and thought, feeling the answer slip out of his reach like a wisp, he bit his lip nervously, and was then startled from his considerations by a sharp jolt of pain, and drops of blood falling on his unnaturally lengthened fingers.

Torrac ran his tongue over his teeth, and very nearly cut into it, so long and sharp had all his teeth now become. "Ow!"

"Are you all right?" Andraste asked, peering concernedly into the cage, her hands glowing slightly with a healing spell.

"Fine..." Torrac rumbled in reply. "It's not a bad wound. Just cut myself on these new teeth, that's all."

_What is so important about me not dreaming...?_ he thought, becoming frustrated with his own mind. And then, a realization finally came to him which made his eyes widen in twofold fear- first, for the realization itself, and second, for the length of time it had taken him to think of it, as he had been mulling this conundrum over for almost two meals of the day. _Unless I no longer can... Are beasts cut off from the Fade as surely as... as... Tranquil are? Do creatures even dream? And why... why did it take me so long to realize this...? C-could my mind... already be..._

"Torrac?" the female mage serving as his vigil asked softly, eyes questioning and worried. "What is it?"

"A book." Torrac stated, extending one long finger towards the open book the mage had abandoned when she had approached him. "Bring me... that book."

A raven eyebrow arched in confusion. "I didn't take you to be the type who was interested in History. Really, this is dry reading, but, if you really want it, here."

She handed over the heavy tome, and Torrac allowed his eyes to roam the page of the book he came to first, opting to read aloud instead of thinking things through in silence. "Many... millennia ago, the... ma-gis-ters of the Tevinter Im- Imper-ium sought to approach the... the Golden City?"

The book slid from his hands and onto the ground as he heard his own slow, halting, hesitating voice reading the simple paragraph. He began to shiver, backing away slowly from the book, shaking his head. _No... no..._

"Torrac?" Andraste asked, now looking alarmed. She picked up the book from the floor of the cage, as she didn't want it getting dirty. She had a sinking feeling as to why he had dropped the book. An idiot her friend may have been, but even for a half-elf who spent more time learning the Mother Tongue than common speech, that passage should've been comprehensible. "I told you this was dry reading. It's a very hard book. Don't worry, I'm sure everything's fine."

_So that's it, then..._ he thought. _I was right. My mind, it's... transf- trans- changing along with my body..._

He saw the look on Andraste's face, and forced a smile upon his face. "Right. Should've known better than to try reading a mage's book. But... _ma... ma ser- ser-rannas_."

It was the failure to speak his own Mother Language which lead Torrac to lay down in the corner of the cage farthest from Andraste. He curled in upon himself like a developing babe, hiding his falling tears from his only true friend. _Why...? Creators, why are you doing this-?_

**CODEX UPDATE: Memory of the Dales**

_"To a Dalish Elf, remembering The Old Ways is not only a mark of pride, but an absolute necessity. There is no higher mark of shame for a Dale than to be rendered unable to remember and celebrate the old culture. To lose the culture they have regained, or ignore it in favor of human traditions, is to become no better than a flat-ear or a shemlen oneself."_


	9. Chapter Nine

_Chapter Nine_

Torrac was awakened from the blissful blackness of unconsciousness by pain beyond any he'd ever faced in his life. His bones were growing, grinding against each other. On instinct, he curled his toes inward, only for them to remain in that position as his feet began altering into massive padded paws, shredding his boots with their claws. Every sinew, every blood vessel, even the marrow of his bones ached. Then, with a sickening _SNAP_ Torrac found himself shrieking, almost howling as his knees' natural bending functions were inverted on both his legs. The muscles and blood vessels seemed to have a life of their own as the crawled beneath his skin, reforming themselves to match the natural motion his haunches would make. Once in place, the muscle mass grew, bulging outwards to compensate for the increased weight of his skeletal structure. There were other changes as well, changes to a far more primal part of himself which he would rather not consider. Within the space of a few hours, it was undoubted that he had the lower body of the wolf.

His breeches and boots had been ripped to shreds with the force of the transformation, so Torrac tossed aside the shredded remnants. _No need for these... Already have enough fur..._

Once the sun had finally risen, Torrac found his shirt to be incredibly constricting, the fabric ripping at the seams as his shoulders grew broader and his rib cage widened, growing heavier. Irritated at having his motion constricted, he tore off the remains of his shirt as well, leaving him naked save for the fur which now covered almost his entire body.

The air was even more tense today. It was even affecting Andraste- he could tell she was angry, but could smell her fear, her desperation.

_Man with the cure... Zathrian... supposed to be here a day ago..._ Torrac thought, allowing another low growl to rise in his throat.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Zathrian and his entourage of Marethari, her guards, and Aiden walked into the tent where Torrac's cage had been set up. Seeing the bald elf, something in Torrac snapped, and his growl dipped into an even deeper register than before. Something about this man smelled suspiciously like a _rat_.

"I see. So this is the poor soul that has been afflicted with the curse." Zathrian commented, turning to Marethari.

"What took you so long?!" Torrac shouted, his new voice frightening Andraste and the small part of himself that didn't want to rip this calmly smiling bald bastard to shreds.

Zathrian was unfazed. "Mm, it seems I have made it here just in time. Give me another night and day to ready the spell, and he shall be freed. By your leave, Marethari."

The Keeper bowed respectfully, gesturing for Zathrian to follow her. Aiden was following after the pair of them. With his keen hearing, Torrac could recognize that Aiden was speaking Dalish, but...

_Can't understand the language of my own people..._ the half-elf thought, the rage draining from him, giving way to sorrow. _Runes on rat's robes... Dalish...? Couldn't read them either..._

He cast his eyes towards Andraste's stack of books. Torrac looked at the books, and though the print, the images were large, he couldn't comprehend them. _Can't even read common writing... I know I know... knew... how, but... Hmm... last time I didn't understand...?_

His mind conjured for him, unbidden, another memory.

_His sister had talked him into it. Into snatching the book. He would insist this before their mother later, but still she'd scold the both of them, as was always the case. One or the other would come up with a clever, for their childish minds, idea, then both would get blamed for the bad things that happened with it._

_"Born under Fen'Harel's star, the both of you, I swear." Hanna sighed in good-natured exasperation. "Come on, you two little tricksters, time for bed."_

_"If we were born under the Dread Wolf, we don't need bedtime!" Torrac shouted energetically, chasing after his sister._

_"Wolf cubs don't have bedtimes!" his twin chimed in, laughing at their game of tag. Her laughter only grew as her brother pinned her to the ground with a lunge and a false growl, like he truly was a wolf about to take a bite out of her. "Stop it, lethallin, you're crushing me!"_

His eyes burned. He knew he wanted to cry. He knew he needed to cry. But tears would no longer come. Not in this form. Torrac heaved a sigh, looking at the ground. _Born under... Dread Wolf's star... Fitting. Trickster, yes, but also... outcast. Loneliness. Betrayal. Sorrow._

The sun was soon to set, bringing with it the worst of the changes. He could feel it in his bones. _Better ask this now, before it's too late..._

"Andraste..." he growled slowly, getting the mage's attention.

"Yes...?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"If the cure can't be made..." he began, speaking slowly to be certain he could get his message across while he still had the mind to speak it. "When I'm no longer myself, please... kill me."

"No... Torrac, no, it won't come to that! Don't say things like that!" the mage insisted, glaring fiercely at him.

"_Promise._" he snarled. "Don't want anyone else enduring this."

It almost physically hurt him to think of the effort it had taken to pronounce those simple three-syllable words. The changes were speeding up. Time was running out.

"A-all right." Andraste replied, nodding slowly. "I... promise."

Torrac nodded in confirmation, and trudged over to the farthest corner of his cage, unable to face his dearest friend in his current state of mind. He didn't want her to see the truth, the worst of this- animal he'd been reduced to.

Watching her friend turn his back on her and walk away, the female mage felt tears welling up in her eyes. _He's... so ashamed of how far he's fallen..._

"Don't worry, Torrac." Andraste stated with more confidence than she actually had. "Zathrian will have the cure ready soon enough, and then everything will be fine. You'll see!"

The half-transformed werewolf sitting in the corner didn't even lift his head in response. Instead, he paced for a moment, then curled up like a mabari soon to go to sleep. Seeing this, Andraste sighed, settling back into her desk chair. Mere moments later, Aiden walked briskly into the tent, sitting down across from the female mage. He was followed by Dalish hunters, who carried with them a plate of simple fruits and vegetables for the two mages and a leg of the deer they had hunted down that evening for the half-beast.

Aiden and Andraste settled down to eat their meal in silence. Aiden's face twisted in disgust as he heard the animalistic feeding that was surely occurring in the cage right behind them, but he continued to eat his portion, regardless. Andraste looked back over to the cage, but could only see Torrac's back. Her face twisted in concern, even as Aiden said, "I really don't think you'd want to see that dead-on. Unless you like the sight of canines feasting on bones. Well, not that there would be all that much difference from how he ate before, from what I've heard."

"Aiden. Now is _not_ the time." the female mage retorted, turning her attention rather stiffly back to her food. "He's ashamed enough about this without you making the situation worse. Got it?"

"Ashamed? He always struck me as being more of the shameless sort." Aiden commented, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth, chewing carefully, and swallowing before continuing. "I mean, with the way he throws himself at anyone willing like an animal..."

"Aiden, _stop_." the female mage's voice carried a note of warning in it this time. "This is going too far."

"What, worried I might bruise his fragile little _ego_? That could do with some shattering, from what I've seen." the other mage noted, wiping away traces of food from his mouth.

"It's not his ego I'm worried about- it's him." Andraste countered. "Aiden, do you have any idea how upsetting this is for him? He can't read anymore, and he can hardly even talk!"

Aiden seemed untroubled. "Well, he didn't seem to read all that much before, and he did entirely too much talking, so that's no terrible loss..."

The resounding _slap_ of Andraste's hand meeting Aiden's pale cheek almost echoed in the small tent. Aiden placed a hand gingerly to his bruising pale skin as he turned back to look at his fellow mage, who looked positively _livid_. "Stop being such an ass! Practically all you've done since you joined up with us is demean Torrac, and I've had just about enough of it! Yes, he can _act_ like an idiot at times, but he's not as _stupid_ as you think him to be! You shouldn't be targeting him so much, especially now, when he's at his most vulnerable! Do you- do you take some sort of _sick pleasure_ in bringing him down or something?! ANSWER ME!"

Aiden kept his face perfectly composed, and stood up from where he was sitting. "I should be getting back to my tent."

Andraste grabbed his forearm in a vice grip, causing him to wince in pain. _Maker's breath, this woman has a strong grip..._

"Oh no you don't." the female mage practically growled. "You're staying right here until you give me an answer. Why are you abusing him like this?"

Aiden smirked. "I didn't think you cared so much for the braggart. Do you fancy him, or something? I would've thought you had better taste-"

The grip on his forearm got tighter, and twisted it uncomfortably. "Aiden. An answer. _  
Now_."

The older mage's face contorted, but it was not merely from the pain of the grip on his arm. "No... don't force me to remember it... I can't bear watching it again..."

"'Again'? Aiden, have you seen someone go through this transformation before?" Andraste asked, eyebrows raised.

The man's face was set in a hard line as he replied, "Not this particular transformation, no. But this... this reminds me of a man I once knew. A man named Alden. He taught me everything I know about magic- well, save for the blood magic, of course."

"What happened to him? Andraste wondered, her face and tone beginning to soften.

There were tears in Aiden's voice, if not in his eyes, at his next phrase. "Age. It robbed him of his energy, his life, and worst of all, his mind. To see the mind that was once so brilliant succumb to the cruel sands of the hourglass, to watch it slowly deteriorate until there was nothing left of it but the memories of the man he once was... It was unbearable the first time. The thought that someday the same will happen to me is... terrifying. And to watch another go through it at a much younger age... I couldn't. I can't. So I used my ill first impression of the lad to try to convince myself that there wasn't much of a mind for him to lose. It would be easier for me to tolerate that way. But deep down, I suppose I always knew my assumptions were wrong. This is just... it's too much. I can't watch this again."

"I- I'm sorry to hear that." Andraste murmured, releasing Aiden's arm at last. "It doesn't excuse what you've said to Torrac, but... I suppose I can understand why. This has been difficult for me to watch as well. To see someone I've known for years just..."

"Still here." a gruff voice slowly said from behind them. "Don't talk like I'm not. Not yet."

The two mages turned back with a collective gasp to find Torrac's bright blue eyes practically glowing in the darkness, staring right at them with an almost forlorn look. Aiden composed himself while Andraste looked penitent. She made to approach the cage, but Torrac held his hand out in a halting motion, conveying to her as best he knew how that she needed to stay away from him.

"I'm sorry." she apologized. "We shouldn't have..."

Torrac shook his head. "It's fine. Understanda- underst- under- I know why."

Aiden looked even more pained at hearing Torrac's failure to pronounce a fairly simple four-syllable word.

Torrac sighed heavily, going back to lie down in the corner of his cage. "Music. Wish I had... music... Might be last night... Please. Someone. Sing..."

Andraste and Aiden exchanged a look. Aiden looked like he'd rather be swallowing the mystery meat at the Hanged Man than doing what he was about to do, but he sat down next to Torrac's cage, and pulled from his memory a tune which seemed fitting to the occasion. If it was truly the half-elf's last night as anything resembling what he once was, a song reserved for funerals wouldn't be inappropriate. And given his Dalish heritage, it seemed only fitting to give the poor lad a send-off befitting a Dalish Warrior.

Hearing the male mage's soothing baritone, Torrac settled in as if he was soon to sleep. He knew from the deep ache in all of his bones that sleep would be a luxury he would be denied that night, but he didn't want to worry the others further. Thus, he pretended to have fallen asleep with Aiden's grim song, and feigned not hearing Andraste cry herself to sleep that night.

**CODEX UPDATE: Education in the Alienage**

_"Education within the Elven Alienage of Lowtown is severely lacking compared to the education of those who live in Hightown, but this is to be expected. Education is handled both within families and communally. Those fortunate enough to come from Dalish heritage may learn what their parent knew of the old ways, even if the other children do not. Those not so fortunate cling only to the words of rumor and legend."_


	10. Chapter Ten

_Chapter Ten_

That night, as he knew he wouldn't, Torrac did not receive the blessing of sleep. That night he spent in agony, shrieking in ways most monstrous as his jaws began moving forward and extending, forcing his furred face to stretch to accommodate them. His lips were stretching far beyond their natural elasticity, to say nothing of the pain caused by his _gums_, naturally fairly static, pulling themselves taut across the snout. He bled in his mouth as his teeth-turned-fangs grew even longer and more of them grew in, forcing them into the proper position. His tongue flattened and stretched to fill the length of his muzzle. He could feel the position of his eyes shifting, and the cartelidge in his ears snapping as it, too, was repositioned to a higher location on his skull, and changed shape. The once tapered-off ears of a half-elf had become the pointed ears of a canine. His nose had long since altered, and he brought his furred hands to both sides of his head as a splitting headache spread throughout his sinuses whilst they rearranged themselves.

It had taken until sunrise. The physical portion of the transformation was complete- the pain of it, as well as the mental portion, was yet to end.

He could hear the pathetic-sounding whimpers coming from his throat. It seemed to take him ages to formulate a single, one-syllable word to respond to Andraste, who had just asked how he was feeling. "... hurts..."

He opened his snout to say something else- _Help me... please..._- and found the only sound coming from it to be a high-pitched, keening whine.

The look on Andraste's face was enough to call forth another such whine after that.

_Talking is... nice. Makes less lonely. _Torrac thought to himself, curled up like a mabari in a little corner after his breakfast, referring to Andraste's nigh-constant chatter since he had lost his powers of speech. He had feasted like the animal his body had become on the full deer the Dalish hunters had brought him. Something about that was bad, but he couldn't think of what. Language was escaping him, tradition and custom were long gone.

As the day wore on, however, Torrac found that it was taking more and more effort to understand the words Andraste was speaking to him. He tried comprehending it when it first began sounding strange, but it only made his head hurt more. _Common speak... she talks common speak...I have to know what she says... Have to... Have to..._

But even recognizing the language could not avail him the mental capacity to understand it. Finally, what had once been recognizable as words became simple noise. Noise which confused Torrac, causing him to look strangely at the creature that seemed to be addressing him.

For some reason, he whimpered when she began to weep.

Concepts, images were all that would come to him now. A run-down city with a tree in the square. Home. A kind-faced elven woman with white hair and brown eyes. Mother. The girl crying in the room- pack-mate? A dark and pale man, also pack-mate, but... mate? Or desire to? A young woman who looked like he had, once- pack-mate, family. Family dead. Former self- dead.

The wolf had all but taken him. Then, an intruder. Familiar scent, but unwelcome intrusion. Pale man, pack-mate, but... He was shouting loudly. Silver thing glinting in his hands. Danger! Yet- put it away. Safety. Woman approaching him, making strange noises, but... gestures. Wanted him to come to her?

He followed, obeyed. Why was she forcing his mouth open-? Danger-? Familiar scent, soothing noises said no. Cold liquid sliding down throat. Not life-water, not taste good. Then, woman backed away.

With startling abruptness, all familiarity was lost.

Who were these creatures? One looked like female, other like male. Female was crying loudly. Noise hurt his ears. Started making him angry, but also make him hurt. Why did female whimper like that? Lost a cub?

He nudged his nose consolingly against her paw. She seemed happy, then even more sad. Kept whimpering. Made him whimper as well. She held him, stroked his fur. Felt nice. Then, saw shadow of glinting silver thing. Danger! Had to move, had to run, had to- had to-

_Andraste, don't!_

The woman reacted as if he had shouted his words aloud, just as suddenly dropping the dagger in her hands, embracing his wolfish form and sobbing. "Torrac?! It's really you! Oh, thank the Maker, I thought for sure I'd lost you for good!"

_That liquid earlier must've been the cure... And not a damn moment too soon. Where the hell was this five hours ago when I still had most of my mind?!_ Torrac raged internally. His capacity to think, at least, had been completely restored. He wasn't sure how long it would be before he was back to himself. Feeling Andraste's arms around his neck, he made a contented noise in his throat. _Well, I should probably give her some sign it's really me in here. Given this is probably the only chance I'll have of kissing her regardless..._

Torrac interrupted Andraste's rambling apologies by running his large tongue up her face, grinning as best he could with a lupine snout as the mage reacted with indignation, wiping off her face.

"That is definitely you in there." Andraste remarked, wiping the excess drool on her robes. "Don't try that again. Or I will use this."

Her staff crackled with electrical energy, and Torrac whimpered, drawing back into himself. _Not fair..._

The transformation back to human went much more swiftly than his change to a werewolf, though the pain was about the same. Now, however, there was the relief of his form shifting back to its original shape, not the disturbance of watching it change. And, to his immense relief, he soon found himself once more able to comprehend the titles on the books both Aiden and Andraste had stockpiled in doing their research into his condition. He shocked both of his mage companions when he could once again speak by falling to his knees and speaking numerous Dalish prayers of thanks to the gods.

When the change back was finally complete, he didn't care that he was still effectively naked in front of the two of them. His clothes were shredded past the point of being useful for covering himself. He was so incredibly thankful to be back to his original body and mind that he was crying tears of joy.

Andraste was embracing him again. "It's all right. It's all over now. You're back, we're here, it's going to be fine."

He very nearly sobbed into Andraste's buxom chest as he replied, "You have no idea how frightened I was, _lethallan_. I'd thought that... that you, and Aiden, and _Mamae_ would be left alone, or that I'd end up hurting you..."

"But you didn't." Andraste soothed, holding him close. "Shhhhh. Calm down. It's all right now. It's over. Relax."

He pulled back from the female mage, smiling warmly at her, wiping away the last of his tears. Andraste smiled back at him, asking, "Do you feel better now?"

He nodded. "Immensely."

He could've danced for joy at pronouncing the word without hesitation or slowed speech. The young woman smiled back at him, keeping her eyes locked on his face as she politely asked, "Now, would you please cover yourself? I really don't want to see that."

"And neither do I." Aiden added, keeping his eyes firmly averted.

"Aww, you don't like what you see?" Torrac teased, a smirk on his face. He only laughed in response to Andraste chucking one of her books at him.

And then, the Keeper entered, and the half-elf was scrambling for a means to cover himself, settling on wrapping what little remained of his shirt around his waist and legs like a loincloth. "_Andaran atish'an, Hahren._" he greeted, bowing respectfully.

The Keeper returned the gesture, and replied, with a slight hint of amusement, "It is we who dwell in this place, _da'len_, you are but a visitor here."

Torrac's face went red at this. "_Abelas, Hahren._"

Marethari smiled at the display of propriety. "Calm yourself, child of the People. It is not merely the _shemlens_ of the neighboring city who owe you much for slaying these beasts and enduring the past few days. We of the Sabrae clan have been saved the affliction infecting us all by your brave actions. It is rare the man who has the bravery to face down the wolf."

At this, Torrac was speechless. _The Keeper... thanks me? An elf-blooded shem? She just called me one of the People... _

Marethari noted the child's surprise. "The quick children have taken much from we elves, but you have proven yourself worthy of the Dalish blood which flows in your veins. As worthy as any other Dalish hunter. For this, and for the suffering you endured due to the selfishness of Zathrian, I present you with a hunter's armor. _Ma serannas, falon._"

After laying the armor into Torrac's outstretched arms, she bowed respectfully to him, causing the two hunters accompanying her to do the same in a rather hasty manner. Torrac returned the gesture, and waited patiently until the others had unlocked his cage and exited his tent before going to put on the hunter's armor.

_I... I can't believe this..._ he thought to himself. Then, when he walked out to meet Aiden and Andraste, who bore sacks containing the six pelts of the werewolves they had slain, his words came out aloud. "I can't believe this. I survived this ordeal. The Keeper herself personally thanked me and presented me with the armor of a clansman hunter, and... and..." His eyes grew wide as he remembered the reward promised them by Guardsman Donnic for completing this quest. "Twenty sovereigns for the pelt of the pack leader. And five for each other pelt from the ones he'd infected. That's forty-five sovereigns! Split three ways, that's fifteen a piece!"

"We're rich!" Andraste cheered. "Mother and I can finally afford to get out of Darktown!"

"Well, comparatively rich." Aiden replied, keeping them on task. "I somehow doubt this will amount to anything in Hightown."

So they went back to the City Guard to claim their reward. And for the trouble spent claiming the pelts, Torrac was given another five sovereigns more. The group of three went to the Hanged Man, and spent some of their previously remaining coin on drinks as Torrac recounted the tale for a highly interested Varric. And over the next several weeks, patrons of the Hanged Man heard Varric spin the tale of Torrac, the Wolf-Slayer.

**CODEX UPDATE: Varric Tethras**

_"Varric Tethras is a dwarf well known all over Hightown as a wonderful tale spinner and a good man to settle down for a few drinks with. Having travelled with Kirkwall's Champion, he spends many of his days in the tavern recounting his adventures with her. However, should a story catch his attention enough, he will take a break from his typical narrative and recount the tale, though usually in a far more grandiose way than it actually occurred."_


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Chapter Eleven_

Andraste had a particular spring in her step as she went back to her house in Darktown for what was sure to prove the last time. She had just spent a good hour haggling to get a small house just outside of the Alienage in Lowtown, and had finally succeeded, though it cost her thirteen of the fifteen sovereigns she had earned for her latest mission with Torrac.

_Thank goodness that entire nightmare is over with._ she thought. _And now, my brother, my mother, and I can have a real house. Which we rather desperately needed, given Mother's current state..._

She threw the door to her old house open wide, and said, beaming, "Mother, pack your bags. We're moving up to Lowtown."

"Andraste-?" Eliana queried. "Well, that's... that's wonderful news, but how on earth did you ever get the money to-?"

The mage was smiling from ear to ear as she said, "We finally got paid for one of our missions. Fifteen sovereigns for taking care of some werewolves outside town. Now, come on, get your bags packed. There's a table and two actual beds in there. No more sleeping on the floor for you, not with three kids in there."

Khayo sped towards the door, lute and sack of clothes in hand. "Already ready to get out of here. I hated living in Darktown. Lowtown's at least a bit more interesting."

Andraste smacked her brother on the back of the head. "You're just happy you don't have to walk as far to the Hanged Man, you lazy ass."

With those last words to her brother, Andraste set about helping her mother pack up their few belongings. The time had finally come for them to start moving up to where they had once been before the tragedy which had rocked the foundations of Kirkwall.

Meanwhile, across town, Torrac was entering the Alienage for the first time in about a week. Doubtless his mother was worried sick about him. He sighed, preparing himself for the wrath soon to meet him, and slowly opened the door. Hanna sat alone at the table, her face buried in her hands. Torrac could hear her voice saying prayers of mourning for both her children- the one who had passed, and one who it was clear she believed was now dead. Hearing her sobbing, his heart broke, and Torrac walked over to where his mother sat, gently wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"It's all right, _mamae_. I'm home." he soothed, holding her close.

Hanna gasped in shock at hearing the sound of her son's voice behind her, then stood from her place at the table, turning around to embrace him properly, now crying into his chest. "_Da'assan_, I was so worried for you. I went... I went to the City Guard, and they told me that you'd... that you'd gone off to hunt werewolves outside of town. And then you were gone for days on end, and I thought for certain you had perished. Child, you're all I have left in this world! Do not frighten me so again! I couldn't... I couldn't bear it if I lost you as well..."

Torrac pulled his mother in closer to him, now shedding tears of his own. "I know, I know. Forgive me... I know it's no excuse for having made you worry so, but look at the rewards this quest has wrought."

He stood back from the embrace, allowing Hanna a few moments to collect herself. The Dalish woman dried her eyes, and truly looked upon her son. Those tearstained eyes widened when she recognized the armor that was upon him. "That is the armor of a Sabrae clan hunter... How did you-?"

The silver-haired man smiled. "A reward from Keeper Marethari for protecting her people. As well as an apology for the selfishness of the man they believed could save me. So much as I hate to say it, you very nearly _did_ lose me, _mamae_..."

_And damn it all, I now owe Aiden my life twice over because of it..._ he added bitterly in his mind.

"But you're here now. That's all that matters to me." Hanna replied, smiling up at her son. "I'm so proud of you."

Torrac's smile grew even wider as he pulled his coin purse from his pocket. "You'll be even prouder when you see this. This is the reward the City Guard gave me for helping to kill the werewolves."

Hanna sifted through the large amount of gold coins in the purse, her eyes growing wide. "This is... Is this really-?"

"Twenty sovereigns, _mamae_. We won't be going short on food any time soon, that much is for certain." he answered with a laugh.

The Dalish woman looked as if she may start crying from joy. "Oh, Torrac... thank you... I know you just got back, but I have a small favor to ask of you."

"And what's that?" the silver-haired man wondered aloud, raising an eyebrow.

Hanna walked over to the kitchen table, and handed Torrac a rolled-up scroll. "This is a letter for Knight Captain Belanus Ashtoret. I need you to deliver it to him."

_Knight Captain... Ashtoret?_ Torrac did a visible double-take as the surname reached his comprehension. "_Mamae_... Is that man-? Is he my-?"

Hanna nodded slowly. "Indeed he is your father. I have been meaning to write him for quite some time, but have never had the resources to deliver it. After all, what business would an Alienage elf have with the Knight Captain of the Templars?"

"So my father is... a Templar..." the half-elf murmured, feeling his stomach twist a bit. _I'm- really not sure how to feel about that. I'm glad to know who he is, but all the same, a Templar...? One of the reasons living in this city is such a hell for Andraste?_

"I know what you're thinking, child, and you're wrong." Hanna cut in, seeing the look on her son's face. "Yes, he is Knight Captain of the Templars, but your father is a good man. He would not harm anyone without reason."

Torrac kept his expression blank, but the look in his eyes showed his reluctance to believe that statement. "If he's such a good man, then why leave us?"

The Dalish elf shook her head. "He didn't have a choice. You know how Meredith was. She wouldn't have one of her own married to and living with a heathen. That he even consorted with one was nearly enough to expel him from the Order, as consorting with him expelled me from the People."

"So he was too cowardly to stand before his superior officer and risk expulsion from that damnable order. Pathetic." the half-elf sneered.

Hanna's greenish-brown eyes locked onto Torrac's intense blue ones. "Would you say that I was a coward, for failing to resist the punishment handed down by Keeper Marethari?"

Torrac closed his mouth, sealing any further remarks in silence.

The silver-haired woman shook her head. "Do not worry yourself, _da'len_. Please, take a portion of this coin you've earned. Use it to get into the Gallows, that you might deliver this message to your father. He deserves to know of us, for he has neither heard of nor seen us since you and your sister were very, very small. If you reflect long enough, you may recall him. You may not. Regardless, there are things of which he... he must learn."

The young man pulled five of the twenty sovereigns out of the coin purse which held his latest reward. "This was an extra reward regardless. I was only supposed to be paid fifteen. I'll deliver the letter for you, _mamae_. Don't worry."

**CODEX UPDATE: Knight-Commander Meredith**

_"No one who lived in Kirkwall at the time of the Mage-Templar Battle's outbreak would deny that former Knight-Commander Meredith of the Templars had been driven quite mad by a combination of paranoia and the lyrium blade which she wielded. Her policies were ridiculously stringent against mages, but she had little tolerance for other other groups who did not worship the Maker. She only put up with a Dalish presence outside her walled-up city because it was a necessity. Anyone found to have been involved with those savages would be summarily punished, risking at best expulsion, at worst death."_


End file.
